A Madhouse Romance
by TheMadPuppy
Summary: It took 72 sessions with the Joker for Harleen to become Harley. But how exactly did it happen? The Madhouse Romance tells it all. [Joker X Harley]
1. May to August

**Title** : A Madhouse Romance  
**Author**: TheMadPuppy  
**E-mail**: themadpuppy85 AT yahoo DOT ca  
**Permission to archive**: Yes, just tell me!  
**Category**: Angst/Dark, Romance, Drama  
**Genre**: Hetero  
**Rating**: PG-13, switch to M later  
**Summary**: It took 72 sessions with the Joker for Harleen to become Harley. But how exactly did it happen? The Madhouse Romance tells it all. Joker/Harley, Multi-parts.  
**Keywords**: Joker, Harley Quinn, Arkham, Falling in Love  
**Spoilers**: This is basically a re-telling of Mad Love, but contains references to Devil's Advocate and The Long Halloween.  
**Disclaimer**: I don't own Batman nor make money out of this. It's only for my pleasure and yours. .

**Author Notes**: Inaccuracy in realism may occurs, please bear with me. Also, for the sake of a thrilling plot, a slight tendency to a twisted Harlequin romance is to be expected. That said, enjoy!

**Warning**: This is what I call "fast-food fanfiction". It is written to be a quick read, not as deep as a one-shot. That, because as a multi-parter I don't have enough time to develop every idea evoked without disrupting the flow of the read…and not enough energy neither. (dies).

This fic is dedicated to

**Thyme In Her Eyes**

Through fiction we met each other

And from this bond fiction sublimes.

* * *

_On April 30th, Harleen Quinzel left Gotham University._

_On May 12th, she was officially a criminal psychiatrist._

_On May 24th, Arkham staff interviewed her._

_On May 31st, she was hired._

_…_

_And thus our romance can begin._

**A MADHOUSE ROMANCE**

Darrell Lancaster was a good guy. Almost 6'7 high, brown eyes, brown hair, married, two kids, this walking American dream performed his daily duties with perfect professionalism and utmost boredom.

Guard at Arkham.

So yes, Darrell was a very good guy. A little crooked, considering this job wasn't paying shit for the trouble, but everybody has to fend for himself, right? After all, it wasn't like he gave the keys to the inmates, just harmless, tiny little favours.

As of now, the Joker was asking him to put a red rose and a flirtatious hand-scribbled note in the office of the new blonde-bomb intern.

"Think she'll fall for you, Clown God?" chuckled the amused guard, his back on the heavy metal door, loud enough just for the Joker to hear him.

"Why, of course! I'm irresistible, can't you see?" came the characteristic fake obliging voice of the Joker behind, feeble through the communication panel.

"I don't know. Dr. Arkham will want her to be a little more experienced before handling big cases like you."

"Oh, she'll make it, ya'll see. Besides, _I_ can be pretty persuasive too."

"I trust you on that. It'll be fun watching Dr. Archer getting headaches over your non-sense."

"It's a deal, then?"

"Yeah, yeah, don't worry. Nice flower in a nice vase, handwritten note, you got it."

"A rose, you unromantic moron! It must be a rose!"

"Alright, alright, a rose! Don't think it'll make any difference in the millions she surely has received by now."

"Oh?"

"Yup. Sorry guy, heard big Dan has already eyes on her."

"Danny-boy? Don't make me laugh, Lancie, that two-cents whiny bully isn't even able to seduce his own right hand!"

Hiding a smile, Darrell continued his schedule. Anyone witnessing the scene before would just have thought he was having some rest on the cold door of the most feared inmate of the asylum.

-x-x-x-

Days and night at Arkham were made of long, tiring routines. This evening was not exception, for Darrell half expected to meet the new object of Joker's affection.

"Miss Quinzel? I'm Darrell Lancaster, at your service."

"Call me Harley. Everyone does."

_Throaty voice.__ Luscious lips. Damn, she sure is a nice piece of ass._

She tilted her head to the side, a mock reproach in the eyes.

"How did you know my name?"

"Rumours about sexy new interns travel fast, sweetheart. Even the criminal masterminds of this section heard about you".

She didn't even blush. Instead, her eyes brightened briefly when he pointed the restricted alley behind him.

"So _you_ are the guard of the famous corridor!"

"Sometimes, and not the only one, thanks God. But for the moment, yeah, I'm alone."

At that, he could see her biting her lower lip. The gal was desperate to ask him something, and he just knew _what_.

After all, recognizing and doing favours was (partly) his job.

"Wanna make a tour?"

"…Isn't that against the rules?"

"Not really. Besides, every newcomer asks to see the Bid Bad Criminals… There," he said, opening the massive double doors, "have your fill. Touch the cells, stare at them, whatever you want…they usually don't answer unless we say "food" or "free time", but don't let that refrain you from trying."

She still seemed a little unsure.

"Aren't you coming with me?"

"I see them daily, sweetheart, they're not thrilling to me anymore. Go on, there's no need to be afraid: these bozos are in security in their cells; you won't be able to harm them!"

He winked playfully, and her sincere, light laugh seemed out of place on the deserted floor.

"Enjoy. If there's anything, I'm right here."

She went in, swinging her round hips. Right, left, right, he could see her long toned legs going from cell to cell with interest, until they finally stopped. To Darrell's mild surprise, it was in front of the Joker's door.

_Guess girls like receiving flowers, even from mass murderers._

There were whispers. Then, she came back, a strange smile dancing on her red lips.

"Satisfied, doctor?"

"More than you can imagine, Darrell. Thank you so much for this."

As the _thump thump_ of her heels receded, he could not help but stare wistfully.

_I'll be damned before I ask Joker tips for seducing chicks._

-x-x-x-

As soon as Harleen turned the corner of the alley, her collected behaviour shattered. She sped up, eager to get back at her office, out of anyone's sight.

This was…exhilarating. She had not worked one full day at Arkham that she had not only charmed the whole staff, but successfully stirred the interest of a well-known psychopath.

And not _any_ psychopath; it was the star of the insanes, the clown prince of crime himself!

A huge, delirious smile dawned on her face. All this hassle at Gotham University was finally paying off. She just had to play her cards right and she'd be rich and famous in less than a year.

_Get to work, girl._

Quickly looking that she was truly alone, she took a thick white folder out of her wallet, dashed half of it in her garbage can, and spread the rest on her desk. Newspaper clips she collected since the day she has chosen her career orientation flew like loose flour.

All on the Joker.

True, her media library on the demented man was fairly more furnished than her now forgotten files on the other criminals in the refuse bin, but Harleen had always nourished the secret hope that she'd have the luck of making him her big case—you know, be the first to truly understand and rehabilitate him, cash on him, stuff like that.

She'd always remember the first time she has seen him—a tall, smiling dandy on TV. His green, wild locks partially hid what they called "the malevolent shine in his eyes", yet her memory couldn't recall anything other than a man seeing the world differently. As the report went on, the more the various psychiatrists in charge labelled him a hopeless case, the more Harleen became convinced than the quickest road to a wealthy life went through him.

Sure, another freak would have been also nice and profitable, but the true big chunk was really him…

Besides, the Joker was a bleached man, but a man nonetheless. That meant, as Harleen has learnt at University, that he could be bribed, coerced or seduced to do or to say anything.

And if her recent encounter with him was any indication, he was quite the fallen Casanova. It reminded her of a proud little puppy desperate to please; it was almost cute in a way.

At first, she thought the rose was a prank. But God, the moment she had the certitude it came from him…

_"Do I get a kiss for my rose, Doctor?"_

An indescribable feeling had seized her at those words; not quite love at first sight, but immediate ecstasy. The voice was exactly like she imagined, it was _his_ voice, and dollar bills were dancing in front of her eyes, each one harbouring the trademark sinister grin of the Joker. Thankfully, her face had remained calm and disinterested, as if she received romantic gifts from famous criminal masterminds three times a day.

_"So **you **put it there. I wonder what the staff will say?" _

_"You're breaking my heart. Besides, I think both you and I know that if you really intended to do that, you already would have, ain't I right?"_

Well, they DID say the guy was intelligent.

_"You know, sweets, I like what I heard about you!"_

_"Oh…anything in particular?"_

_"Everything!__ They say you're blonde, and pretty, and wear skirts one inch shorter than the other doctors…but what I really like is your name. Har-leen Quin-zel. Rework it a bit, and you get Harley Quinn, the very spirit of fun and frivolity!"_

_"Yeah, like the clown character Harlequin. I heard that before."_

_"Then you can see how I can be attracted to it…makes me feel like there's someone I can rely to, ya know?.._"

She had remained speechless. Obviously, that was fate. This name she hated so much was in fact a blessing in disguise, given by God to her for this very moment.

_"Come on, sweets, I'm dying in there. Don't you wanna chat with me a little? We can exchange beauty tips—you know they say I have the most incredible baby skin?"_

She had to stifle a laugh. Joker? Baby skin?

_"I'll see what I can do", _she had said flatly.

_"I'm off preparing Granny's ointment, then. Tee-hee-hee…"_

After that, he recoiled in the dark, and she left. She hadn't got to clearly see him, but from the desk the printed, black and white grin of the Joker seemed almost charming now.

She touched it lightly, with the pulp of her fingers, and forced his name to pass her lips.

"Joker."

She repeated it, again and again, revelling in the feeling of empowerment it gave her. Absent-mindedly, she touched her blonde bun. She had changed her hair color years ago, when she first discovered that important men—the Joker's in the lot—preferred blonde cuties. As for the shortness of her skirt, if that alone was enough to make him spill his secrets, she'll happily make a steamy swimsuit parade.

Oh yes, the Joker will make her a happy, happy girl.

-x-x-x-

_Weeks rolled by. Harley pleaded her case daily, but to no avail. _

_On **July 21st, **the Joker took the matter into his own hands. _

_On **August 27th**, Dr. Julius Archer gave up on his green-haired patient, declaring him to be a "hopeless pain in the ass"._

_On **August 30th**, Dr. Joan Leland went to the session instead…_

-x-x-x-

"It seems you have been difficult these past few weeks?"

"You know, Doc, they say she has golden hair, GOLD, can ya imagine that? And that she moves like a mermaid, you know, swingin' hips chica, and that she is…"

Joan sighed, trying not to lose her patience. This had gone on since one hour. Any question she asked, he just answered back something about Dr. Quinzel, tossing madly like an overexcited child through the entire ordeal.

She felt sympathetic for Dr. Archer. He had endured that for one entire month, twice a week.

In fact, it was rather unusual that the Joker focused on something else than the Batman—then again, it was bluntly weird to see him acting so…infatuated. She had taken some notes (_acts like a retarded toddler under the Christmas tree) _but that was all she could do. Either she sent him to Harley, or they waited for him to calm down.

Considering his state, that could means forever.

-x-x-x-

"I give you one month, Harley, you hear me? If he doesn't improve, just let go. I know how dedicated you are, but don't try anything foolish. This isn't Holly Bishop, or Stuart Thatcher, this is the _Joker_. He makes veteran psychiatrists go _insane_, you hear me? So…"

"Don't worry, Joan, I promise not doing anything inconsiderate. Basic questions and that's all. Don't be so nervous, everything will be alright."

"I just have this feeling it'll go really _wrong. _I mean, for God's sake, the stupid clown has a crush on you! I'm disgusted!"

"It'll probably fade off once he sees me a couple of times. Come on, Joan, this has to stop, even the other inmates complain!"

"I admire you. You're so stoical, even though he'll probably drool at you like a perverted old man. I'm gonna puke."

"When is the first session scheduled?"

"In two days. Don't ask me again, or I'll think you're eager to see him. Urg."

-x-x-x-

**A Madhouse Romance-72 sessions remaining**

* * *

_Notes on Chapter 1_

Thyme once asked me "how this could happen under the nose of the staff and nobody noticed?" The fic is basically my answer. For now, we have a crooked, bored guard and a clueless staff, but next chapters will harbour more causes.

As for Darrell, try to understand him. The guy isn't stupid, just bored out of his mind. He can't fathom the consequences of his "harmless" actions, and besides, if it doesn't affect him, he doesn't really care. He's your average reliable do-it-all, trying to get what he can.

Chapter 2 is planned to be released next week, still in the PG-13 section. Please leave a comment, and stay tuned!


	2. September

Quick answers to those who were kind enough to leave a review:

**JaDErUst** : Thanks for the nice comment ! I'm a French native speaker, and I still need to improve my grammar in English. Hopefully it'll get better chapter by chapter, and I wish this new one please you as much as the first!

**Nightmare1**: I'm glad someone else got the same perception on Arkham's staff as me. Cartoons, comics, it seems there's only two competent doctors in this asylum! As for Harleen's hunger for fame and cash, I just couldn't leave it out; IMHO, that's what brought her to the Joker in the first place, because he was THE big fish. This chapter is still light, but it is a necessary step for the future months; hope you enjoy it!

**Kelly Renee**: Thanks for the nice comment! "Fast food", this chapter still is, but we begin to fall for the Dark Side (laughs).

**Amanda**: A big thanks for the enthusiastic comment! I'll try my best to make the whole ride enjoyable; after all, these two deserve no less! (wave the "Joker and Harley forever" madly).

**Sno****-Chan**: Welcome to the club of the newly addicted JHQ stuff! I began to write fanfiction because, as you said, stories about them are rare (had you tried the Mad Love C2 community?) I'm glad you like this first chapter (and immensely flattered that you consider me capable!) I'm a French native speaker, so grammatical errors may occur: I need to work on that. As for this chapter, don't worry; although the Joker is acting disgustingly sweet, he's faking (I abhor tamed Jokers, yuck!); October will show he's not as adorable as Harley thinks now…

**Thyme In Her Eyes**: If I comment on your review here, readers will think I forgot to post the story and simply wrote a letter to you! What to tell you? I'm glad the quick pace is working; I'm relieved you like Darrell; I wish I could show you this calendar and I totally LOVE this quote from "The Man who Laughs"! Insight on the Joker is coming (see author notes at the end), and I leave you with that: chapter one, he made her thought of a _puppy_; in this one, a _schoolboy_…(insert evil laugh here).

* * *

**A MADHOUSE ROMANCE**

**"Are you _INSANE_!"**

Dr. Arkham's voice resounded through the entire asylum, his anger carrying in his words. The target of his outrage, Joan Leland, was sitting in front of him, calm and posed as ever.

"I'm not. Harleen is strong and intelligent, she'll make it. Her grades are--"

"**_I don't care about some stupid grades!_**"

Exasperated, Dr. Arkham threw his arms in the air, trying desperately to regain his calm. Massaging gently the bridge of his nose, he finally went on:

"Seriously, Joan, _what_ on _Earth_ have you thought? Sending Miss Quinzel with the Joker, it's like…putting some innocent deer on the highway. It's a _slaughter_."

"I tend to differ. Harleen is a determined young woman who will not be easily deceived."

He sighed.

"Listen, Joan, I have no doubt she is a sweet girl. It's just…well, I'm suspicious about her. The way the guards are at her feet really irks me, if you get what I mean."

"That's exactly what I said. Meet the new generation, Jeremiah, dedicated youngsters who'll do everything necessary to meet their goal…and I just know what she intends to do."

"Oh?"

"Cash on him. She wants to write a tell-all book, that sort of stuff."

"And _I_ was wondering why she was so desperate to get a bigger case. God, the foolish girl."

"I know. I thought she'd realise it isn't that easy after some time with him."

"I said no, Joan. I _won't_ lose another psychiatrist to that clown. Besides, Dr. Archer treated him for a full nine months to no avail, what could she do in one?"

"Julius isn't a woman."

"Your point is…?"

"My point is that's the first time we get such an intense reaction from the Joker, and we must use that! We _must_!"

Jeremiah's eyes softened.

"You still believe every inmate in this asylum can be saved."

"OF COURSE I DO! Otherwise, what's the point of all this? Our job? Come on, Jeremiah, there are always new inmates coming, and more cells to build, and it just seems like the world is falling into madness…and I don't want to believe that. I don't—I _can't_ believe there's a point where you can't be saved anymore. Otherwise…"

Joan's tone wavered. She wanted to sound strong and confident, but that isn't easy when your convictions are torn apart daily.

"Alright, Joan. _One month_. And she must report to you each time, heard me? If you feel anything weird, if she seems to pity him, I don't care if it's just an insignificant "Poor Pooh", you get her out of this and we send that clown into the isolation room until he calms down, _even_ if it means forever. If anything goes wrong, I'll regard _you_ as the culprit. Got it?"

Joan smiled feebly.

"Deal."

-x-x-x-

**_September 1st-_**_First session_

God, she was so nervous. Her watch had just ticked to one o'clock, and that meant that any moment soon her door would open and the Joker would appear. For the fifth time in ten minutes, she checked her appearance in the mirror, than mentally chided herself for feeling so insecure. This wasn't some romantic rendezvous, no matter the feeling she was experimenting right now.

"Dr. Quinzel?" said a deep, rumbling voice outside.

"'Coming!"

Her heart went down. A big—_enormous_ fitted better—chestnut short haired guard was standing in the doorway, his hand extended for a shake, which she lukewarmly took.

"I'm Daniel O'Keefe, Miss. 'Be the guard to bring the patients to you from now on, with Darrell, that is. Pleased to meet you, you have no idea."

_Don't bet on this, boy._

"Call me Harley, Danny—oh, you don't mind this nickname, do you?"

"Not at all, Miss.", he smiled widely, proud like a rooster. He was about to say something else when a whining, fake high-pitched voice came from behind.

"Would you shut up? _I_ am her patient! Go find your own shrink!"

Somewhere among the "Quiet, clown!" that ensued, Daniel reluctantly gave up the doorway, and she repressed a smile. Her guest had obviously done his best to look great, even in shabby, plain asylum clothes, but the general expression on his face was just adorable—he was _pouting_.

"Alright guys, thanks for escorting me here, now shoo! Let the adults alooooone…"

As Daniel roughly strapped the complaining maniac ("Careful! My tender skin!") on the couch, Darrell gave her the usual instructions, made her promise to call if there was anything and wished her a happy two hours of torture. The door closed after them with a fatalistic _clack, _and she was finally alone with the Joker.

Taking a deep breath, she turned around, taking some time to look—really look, you know—at him.

He sure had a lot of presence. His aura was invading the space, and Harley understood on some level how people can find him frightening; it seemed you couldn't hide from his intense gaze. But his face? It stunned her, for he was so…real, the true thing, not just some paper clip, but apart from that…from the general expression, he looked like an overexcited schoolboy, not some demented murderer.

"Like what you see, Doc? I sure like the view." he added with a whistle.

"Thank you. Shall we begin now?" she said, a pleasant expression on her face.

"I _love_ straight-forward women. Of course, go on: I'm completely yours to please."

He smiled seductively (or what he thought was, Harley reflected), twitching his eyebrows in a manner that clearly suggested "_ravage me!_", and she had to stifle a laugh.

Poor Pooh.

"Slow down, mister…in fact what should I call you?"

"Whatever your want me to be, sweets. I can be Lovetoy for you."

"Then it'll be…mister… _Joker_ until I find something more appropriate."

_It sounds grotesque. Urg._

"I like how my name sounds on your lips, Doc. Could you say it again?"

Instead of obliging him, she sat down, elegantly crossing her legs, and victoriously noted the way his eyes were glued to them.

"Let's begin with some basics. Tell me one of your memories, anything you want."

"_Anything_?"

"Tsk, tsk, not _this_ kind of anything, you naughty patient. Like…anything about your parents, perhaps?"

"Parents?"

He said the word like it was such a foreign notion to him, and she momentarily lost her composure: pity and genuine understanding softened her features.

"Your father?", she suggested softly.

"Oh, _that_…well, you know, my father used to beat me up pretty bad…"

-x-x-x-

"How did it go?"

Harleen offered Joan her most collected exterior: inside was another story. She just couldn't tell her how badly she was shaken by all the confidences she just received, or how she nearly cried when he threw a tantrum because their time was up. His heartrending scream would probably haunt her forever.

"_I don't wanna goooooooooo!"_

She just…wasn't prepared for that. But she'd be next time.

Besides, she had this feeling that disgust was the proper emotion to display when referring to the Joker if she wanted her month with him to be extended.

"Harley? What's the matter?"

"What? Oh, sorry Joan, here is the complete report for you to read, everything is in it…it's just…"

"Yes? Go on Harley, you know you can tell me anything. I'm here to help you."

Harley put her most unsure-what-to-think-borderline-repulsed look.

"I don't know…you think he'll be offended if I decline his offer to be my sex toy?"

Joan made an incredulous expression, then her usual serious face cracked a smile. Soon both the girls were laughing madly in the staff's room.

-x-x-x-

**_September 29th_**_-Last session of the month_

_14h45. In 15 minutes, he's gone, and perhaps I'll never see him again._

In fact, Harleen was pretty confident that the work they had accomplished so far in their eight sessions together would give her access to another month with him; after all, he had made subtle but sincere improvement that the whole staff could notice, and that alone was a free ticket to October, in her opinion.

But she couldn't help the thought—nor the sting it brought to her heart.

They had an agreeable routine; he came in, made a joke at the expense of the guards; then they exchanged a few pleasantries and she'd ask a question that he'd pass the whole session giving answers—answers that never failed to make her heart cry out for him. At first she thought she was unprepared, or too soft; she after came to the conclusion that she'd have to be completely insensitive not to be moved by his horrible childhood.

Of course, she never shared her musings with anyone; anyway, they surely wouldn't understand. The Joker was a beast to them, human just in form: if he had one relative, it would be Dracula in a Donald Duck outfit, and even then the vampire would be considered the less threatening of the two.

She sneered.

"…and then my neighbour was…Doc, are you listening to me?"

Guiltily, she snapped out of her reverie, a faint blush quickly coloring her cheeks.

"Sorry" she said meekly. "Could you repeat the last sentence?"

"Aah, forget it. You're right, it wasn't a funny story at all! In fact, what don't you tell me one of yours for a change?"

"That's because I'm not supposed to. I'm the doctor and you're the patient, and that's how the things go", she said with a small smile, like a mother to a child.

"But I'm getting _tired_ doing all the talking!" he whined pitifully, shifting on the couch like an impatient toddler. "Come on sweets, I'm a harmless little pet, I won't repeat our conversation to anyone…nobody listens to me anyway 'cept you."

"It isn't like—"

"Pleaaaaase? Please please please please?...I see you twice a week, Doc, I can tell when something troubles you…"

_At least somebody noticed._

"No! No wait, let me guess", he said, snapping his fingers; " Papa isn't happy?"

"Hardly could be. He's dead."

"Oopsie. I'm so—"

"Don't be, he's not worth it. Always…dissatisfied. He sure is happier now."

"What a meanie! _I_ sure would have been proud having a girl like you…sure you were the perfect student, right Doc?"

She laughed softly. He said that with such childish, blind fate, like it was an impossible she was less than perfect, and she had the most unexplainable urge to hug him.

_He's so adorable. And Joan always repeating me he's the Prince of Scum, bet she never got to see this side of him…_

"Quite right. I was a model student. Or so the teachers said", she added as an afterthought, pen tapping lightly on her chin.

"You sure could make them say whatever you want with this body of yours, eh?"

Coldness seized her; she went rigid for a moment, quickly peering at him, but he was just leering at her with his usual lecherous grin, _because he always takes any occasion to make sex-oriented jokes on my body_, she remembered. She really should be accustomed to that by now and stop being paranoid, because anyway he _couldn't_ possibly know, and thus reasonably reassured she relaxed slightly.

"You're flattering me. My charms don't work _that _much!"

"Think I didn't notice how our Danny-boy is looking at you, sweets? I'm gonna puke."

"Stop that. He's a nice boy."

"Well, you nailed that right! A nice boring boy!"

"Hey!"

"Trust me on this, sugar; nice guys _are_ boring. Don't you watch TV sometimes?"

"I'm too busy trying to help you out!"

That was not even a lie. She brought more and more work at home—therapy was not improvisation, and helping heavy cases like the Joker was sure a full time job. Besides, tell-all books don't write themselves in two days!

"Really? That's sweet of you, Doc, it sure feel great knowing someone cares for this poor old clown…"

"What? You liar! You can't be more than forty!"

Too late she realised she had made one big mistake (_don't ever do that, Harley_, has said Joan, _part of his madness literally lives on it!_): feeding his monstrous ego. It always has been _him_ flattering _her_ before, and never the reverse: she liked having the rules straight.

But looking at the happy, cocky grin now plastered on his face, she found herself not feeling that guilty.

"You're right, Doc, no matter I don't remember when I'm born! I'm sure must still in my prime!"

Her heart went down again, and she slapped herself mentally. It was true; he ignored his own age, and practically most of his own story. His life was to begin anew each morning.

_Great job Harl.__ You're lucky he took it well and isn't sobbing on the floor right now. Just the way to end the session._

"Come on, Doc, ravage this sexy clown before he crumbles to dust! You have my permission!"

He opened large his arms (or what he could, considering he was shackled), and unable to repress herself, Harley began to genuinely laugh her heart out.

"You're impossible!"

"And ya sure are more pretty when you smile, Doc. Wait 'til I tell big Danny-boy I made you laugh!"

"Oh my God, don't! Don't! I'll never hear the end of it!"

"Alright, then, it'll be our little secret…ouhh I love the sound of that. Almost dirty!"

"Shh, shh, be nice. You ought to be if you want to see me Friday."

"We have the next month together too, then, Doc?"

"I'm positive so. Don't worry."

-x-x-x-

* * *

**A Madhouse Romance- 63 sessions remaining**

_Notes on Chapter 2_

My God, what a pain this chapter was…Harley is softening, yet isn't that changed from the previous month, while Joker gets unnoticeably more power…blah. He sure is boring to write, all falsely tamed like that. Guess I'm not accustomed to write dialogues where Harl still is sane enough to resist him, or him having to be careful about what he says to her.

Besides, I'm so eager to get to October, where we'll see some REAL action…and better, see the things from Joker's point of view! OH PURE JOY! It took me a lot of discipline to concentrate on September in these conditions.

But hey, here it is. I'm not entirely satisfied with the result, but it turned out better than I first expected…

Chapter 3 is scheduled next week, still in the PG-13 section. In the meantime, please leave a comment!


	3. October

_Thanks to Vicious Bleu and her awesome fic-booster icons, you can read October that soon. Go give her a kiss for the trouble, and the meantime, enjoy!_

**Amanda**: Quite right, it's mapped out! I always thought Harley's fall into madness has not been a straight line, but a jagged one. So she'll be a little more lucid in the chapter, before falling again, and so on and so forth…

**Kelly Renee**: Adorable is the word! Writing, I wanted to cuddle him like a cute stuffed animal. But now, let's get a taste of his evil sexiness… (laughing).

**Nightmare1**: I hope I don't deceive you in this chapter. And a guard is sure nice, but a cute psychiatrist is sure better…(winks).

**Sno****-Chan**: I'm positive this chapter is very good on the grammar side! Perhaps a few verb tenses…had a lot of problems translating (sobbing). Anyway, enjoy the show, I just _adore_ this chapter!

**Thyme In Her Eyes**: I was about to post October when I received your (delicious, as usual) review. I'm glad you liked the last chapter—and I'm proud to announce you this one sure won't deceive you. Power shift, Joan Leland, Joker's view, creepy interaction…everything! (and thanks for Arkham's first name—I'm going to correct that right away!). And now, I'm off replying to you at last…be prepared for a monstrous e-mail! (laughing).

* * *

**A MADHOUSE ROMANCE**

"Joan?"

"Harley! How are you doing?"

The naturally soothing voice of Joan's eased Harley's internal turmoil. Of course, she wasn't calling the older woman to tell her she had the worst white night in her life, but hearing the maternal tone sure put a balm on her worries.

A nice, hot balm; it didn't heal anything, but the pain momentarily disappeared, and that was more than what her last twenty-four hours had done for her.

"I'm fine, thank you. Just a little nervous, I suppose."

"Nervous? What for?..Oh, you wanna know if your sessions with the Joker are extended."

Harley cringed at the sudden coldness and distaste dripping from Joan's statement, but forced herself to sound nonchalant and detached.

"Yeah. I thought you could tell me…"

"What about your book?" interrupted Joan, slightly sarcastic.

_What about indeed._

How can you say you were ready to reach your life's greatest goal, and yet the moment you touched it, all the happiness, the glory and the excitement faded away? How can you say "Joan, I sat down yesterday to begin my book, you know the one _I've dreamed__about since I was sixteen_, to cash on a famous criminal and rise my way to fame? Yeah, this one, glad that you remember. Well, I began typing and I felt this most peculiar unwelcome feeling…something like…like…"

In fact she didn't know which feeling it was exactly. Part remorse, part guilt, part shame, part pity…whatever it was, it was definitely linked to the Joker's adorable, childish pouting face, and his big, thrusting eyes. The guy needed a competent and understanding shrink to help him heal. She just couldn't imagine herself letting him down once her book was written.

What she could imagine, though, was his heartrending scream of sadness when he would learn he has been betrayed for cash. It was an unbearable thought; that alone stopped her from writing anything, and prevented sleep to shut off her mind.

"I think…I won't write the book, Joan."

"What?"

That was perhaps a premature promise. Just…she would have to ask the Joker if it was alright with him. When he would be healed, surely, it will not matter to him anymore if she cashed a little on his criminal past? For now, she needed to concentrate on his rehabilitation.

"Strange, isn't it? I just…get this feeling people won't understand. And well, you know…it isn't that easy."

"How so?"

"To be frank, I don't know. I guess it's the first time I really want to see science wins over chaos…"

Joan's tone softened.

"I'm so glad to hear you say that, Harley. You're making me very proud, I might add."

"Really?"

"Really. Dr. Arkham is very satisfied with your results. You have our famous clown until Halloween…wait, did I just made a _joke_?"

-x-x-x-

**_October 8th—_**_3rd session of the month_

"It's written here you don't really participate in social activities…"

"No, not really, Doc."

"Why? Don't you have some…friends?"

It sounded strange even on her own lips, but she needed to know. Did extreme psychopaths have friends? Was he all alone out there?

"My, Doc, you say that like there were goons outside just waiting for my escape to make a triumph or som'thing…"

"There isn't?"

"Nah. I'm a one-man party, sweets, all alone outside. Guess I haven't found my one true love yet."

"_You believe in love?_"

"_'course_ I do! Tsss, don't look so surprised! Even _I_ want to find my other half! Though I don't think I'll find _mine_ anytime soon…"

"Why not?"

"Ya see a lot of cute clown girls around, Doc?"

"It must be a _clown_?"

He shrugged.

"Don't think anything else would work, Doc…"

She wanted to cry. Of course, he was a disfigured criminal, so not a lot of girls were interested in him, but…God help her, she was a hopeless romantic.

"…and yet you don't believe in friendship…"

"Ahh, Doc, I wouldn't say that like that…it's just…who do you want me to befriend?"

That was right, who was fit to bond with him? He didn't talk to anyone other than to annoy the hell out of them. In fact the only one he really interacted with was…

_Here comes the touchy subject of Batman._

They had discussed a lot the topic of Batman these last sessions; and although he conceded he had to talk about him to heal (_you're right Doc, I need to work on that)_ the truth was that he had a hard time keeping his temper in check; he had to stop often and sighed a lot, not to say he vengefully kicked the couch and bit his lip until he drew blood.

She didn't blame him. In fact, he was really doing a good job in her opinion. She could just imagine in what state _she_ would be if Batman had wronged her like that.

Nevertheless, she had to say the next sentence. Jostling him a little can only benefit him, or at least she hoped so.

"…You know, I could almost suggest you have some repressed homoerotic tendencies towards Batman", she said, as lightly as possible.

**_"WHAT?"_**

…And then all hell broke loose.

He snarled like a wild animal; his whole face screamed _hate_, hate for the _idea_, and hate for _her_ for having suggested it. His voice dropped to a low octave of pure anger, as he began shouting obscenities and curses.

**_"Come on Daddy's lap, baby, I'm going to show you I'm not some fucking gay!"_**

He began struggling with his restraints, and at the same moment the door was forced and Daniel and Darrell came in repeating **"Calm down! Calm down!" **to no avail, then "_Put him down, Danny! Quick!_" and Danny went to execute the order but was instead kicked on the nose by a very white knee and punched in the gut by the Joker's strangely shining fist, and he began laughing and laughing and laughing and continued laughing even though Darrell shot him sedatives…

And it was all. He collapsed on the floor, grin plastered on his face, while Danny was clenching his bloodied stomach, his face twitching from the pain as Darrell went check on the Joker's thumb and swore.

"Christ, the clown had a fucking _paper-clip_! Harley, call the meds! _QUICK!_"

But Harley couldn't move. She was paralyzed, in a state her co-workers assumed was "incredulous terror".

-x-x-x-

"I..I d-don't know what…what I…"

In the staff's room, Joan was softly patting Harley's shoulders, encouraging the sniffling trembling girl to continue.

"Is...Was it _normal_, Joan?"

"Actually, yes, Harley. You didn't do anything wrong, I should have told you to not even _hint_ he was homosexual. His reaction is always the same, though I think you had the worst to date."

"Oh…r-really…g-guess I should be r-reassured then…"

"Don't worry. Four days in the isolation room will make him think twice before acting like some unbridled beast next time."

Wiping her nose, Harley nodded mutely.

"There, all better. You know, why don't you go outside tonight? Have fun and forget the Joker for two seconds, it'll do you some good I'm sure. And I heard a certain chestnut haired guard is literally dying to have a date with you", she added with a wink.

_A guard.__ A date, restaurant. Yes, that's nice. I need to change my surroundings a little._

_I need to stop thinking about him._

-x-x-x-

**_October 8th, 9h00 pm—_**_"Eastside Mario" restaurant_

"I'm so happy you accepted my invitation, Harley."

"Pleasure is all mine Danny. Are you feeling better?"

"For sure I am! T'was nothing, don't worry. Cheese on your spaghetti?"

Harley barely repressed a sigh. She had been with Danny for less than one hour and was already bored out of her mind.

_I told you so, sweets._

It wasn't like he was bad a conversation, or stupid or just eyeing her boobs…in fact he was genuinely nice. It's just…something, some glimmer, some sparkle was missing in his eyes. Not to say between them.

_Would it have been that boring with me?_

And she couldn't help but wonder how she'd get her way out of this. She wanted to return home and have a nice bath. And work a little on the Joker's case.

_Of course not.__ I'm not boring, am I, honey? I always have lot of funny stories to tell twice a week. _

Would the evening be as boring with him?

_Of course they can't be boring; I practice the whole week to polish my act. They have to be perfect for you, sugar._

Exasperated with herself, Harley shook her head. She had enough of the clown for today. She needed to clear her mind of him.

_You're frustrated. You wanted to take the evening lightly, to escape me. But you came back to me nonetheless._

Indulging in her fantasies was really the last thing reasonable to do tonight.

_Sooner than you thought._

But she couldn't help it. She felt like a helpless moth to a flame.

_And you don't completely hate it. _

Later she made some excuse to Danny (who totally understood. "You had a rough day, Miss Harley, go get some rest!") and went home. She barely took the time to remove her shoes. Instead she walked to her office, sat down in her chair and looked at her wall.

_Do you have a room full of newspaper where I make the front page, pumpkin? I'm sure you do. You want so badly to help me. To understand me._

She wasn't terrified earlier. She was…awed. He had taken off his cuffs and gravely injured an armed guard with a mere paper-clip. They had to shoot him down to stop him!

And if they didn't, what would have he done?

_Is there a stuffed bear in this room? I don't know yet. Will you tell me next time we see each other? _

The perspective sent a delicious shiver down her spine.

_I'm the perfect pet, baby. The child you dream of having._

She grabbed Dumbo, her favourite stuffed animal, and with the other hand her nicest photo of him. She should have it framed. A green frame, wouldn't that be great?

_…the lover you'll soon yearn for. You have my special promise for that._

But as soon as the idea crossed her mind, she threw the offensive paper as far as she could, like it was burning her fingers. For the love of God, what was she _thinking_?

_I told you so, Harley-girl. Daddy's still in his prime._

"Having fun in there, clown?" said a random guard's voice through the communication panel of the isolation room.

"A lot, thank you", answered the evil monstrous mastermind known as the Joker, plucking an innocent flower he was the only one to see.

-x-x-x-

**_October 13th_**_—the session after_

He just said one thing different from their comfortable routine this time, after saying he was so sorry for last time, that is.

"I told you so."

Unable to meet his eyes, Harley feigned she didn't hear—she knew what he was talking about, and she knew he knew she knew too. If she did, she had this feeling she'd see he knew a lot more, perhaps even more than _she_ did.

And for the first time in their sessions, Harley experienced something close to fear—not quite, but definitely close.

-x-x-x-

**A Madhouse Romance- 54 sessions remaining**

* * *

Notes on Chapter 3

Was it because of the feedback? My mood? My carefully built calendar? I don't know. This chapter just wrote itself, flowing out of my hands. Practically no editing. It was done in one day—_one day_! And it's my _best_!

Chapter 4 is scheduled for next week, still in the PG-13 section.

I'm off congratulating myself now. In the meantime, please leave a comment!


	4. November

**Quick answers to those who were kind enough to leave a review:**

**Robster72**: It's a difficult task. Not much is known about the Harley "in-between"; she's usually portrayed at 100 Harleen or 100 Harley, and her steps to insanity are pretty much to my discretion. I hope I don't make it too unrealistic...

**Sno-Chan**: Soon, my young Padawan, soon...(laughing) Check the warning below, the winter will be hot(winks).

**Kelly Renee**: That was such a nice compliment, thank you! I don't know really, I guess it has something to do with the pacing...this chapter should do the same to you, I'm pretty satisfied with myself (smiles).

**Farthingale**: Are you THE Farthingale from the JHQ Deviantart fanclub? (shining eyes) If so, I'm very honoured that you like this! Thanks for telling me my grammar improved: I try very hard to make it better! (and now thatI know that you have a fanfiction account, I'll go sneak on it a little...)

**-J**: It was told in the Mad Love comic book, but I guess we all easily forget about it! (laughing) Things go downhill from here (read: creepiness ahead)...think you can handle it? (winks).

**Thyme In Her Eyes**: My dear, dear Thyme...what can I tell you? I've worked like a slave on this chapter; I hope it pleases you; I've written it thinking about you; I'm so tired after this but just a word from you and I know I'll be up and writing again. You're more than a muse for this, you're the life source. Enjoy, may it help forget your studies for fifteen minutes...(winks).

Thanks also to **Amanda**, **nicci** and **Kimmy-sama**!

* * *

NEXT CHAPTER WE MOVE TO THE "M" SECTION!

**A MADHOUSE ROMANCE**

**_October 29th_**_—the month before_

"Harley! Is what I read in the report the _truth_?"

The voice in the phone was delirious with I-found-a-way-to-cure-my-hopeless-patient joy. Harley's voice, though, was a little more…strained.

"You think I would _lie_?"

She stressed the word like she wasn't seriously offended. A joke among friends. Yes, she was a born comedian.

"No, of course not, Harley! It's just…well, I think we have real hope for our clown now! This is…amazing! No, _priceless_!"

"Yeah, I was very surprised too."

_That's a mild word. Very, very mild…and could you please stop referring to him like he was some fucking experiment?_

"Think of it, Harley! If, like he said, he really had a—"

_Don't mention it. Dooooon't!_

"—girlfriend—"

_Stop it. Stopitstopitstopit…_

"—_when_ he was the Joker…that's really a new one. Did he say anything about it?"

_More than I wanted to hear, that's sure._

"We barely brushed the subject, Joan. It was a callgirl."

_A mere, stupid, insignificant, dirty, useless whore.__ A WHORE!_

"And what about her?"

"Not much. I'm afraid the poor girl is dead."

"Dead or _killed_, Harley?"

_Who cares as long as that cheap bitch is dead?_

"Don't know yet. You're right; I need to investigate on it."

"Think you'll have enough of the next month to unravel the mystery?"

"Is that a way to tell me I've earned the right to have November with him too?"

"And here I thought I'd have to temper your excitement a little… What's wrong, Harley? You seem awfully…_sad_ these last few days. Mind you, I've never been an expert at these things but…Want to talk about it?"

_You'd have a heart attack if I told you._

"It's okay, Joan, really. I think I work too much. I need some vacations…No, screw that, I need a _boyfriend_. A nice boyfriend to tend to my neglected needs…"

She suggested it lightly and waited, knowing the effect it would have on her more than probably blushing friend: indeed there was a short, silent moment of mute embarrassment on Joan's part, when she realized _exactly_ what Harley meant, and her subsequent cough to mask her discomfort.

"That sure seems a good idea! Well…keep up the good work, Harley. And call me as soon as you have found out about the callgirl, would you?"

_Don't. Mention. Her._

_"_Sure, Joan. No problem."

As Joan finally hung up, Harley let her head fall into her hands. This was too much. Way too much. It was like someone took off the lid of her bubbling cauldron-spirit, and now everything was threatening to spill everywhere.

_Control, Harley. You can do it. You've always succeeded so far._

But the callgirl led to cute fluffy scenarios of love involving the Joker; and that led to an enormous, unexplainable and devastating wave of raw jealousy.

And, well, Harley wasn't so eager to find out why. The things it could reveal about herself, you know.

She looked up, searching the now green-framed trademark smile of the Joker at the right corner of her desk. Hesitantly, she traced his lips with the tips of her fingers, revelling in the feeling of serenity it gave her.

And then threw the mocking grin away in an access of anger, glass shattering on her immaculate floor.

_"A CHEAP WHORE!"_

A loud sob choked the hysterical scream as she put her hands on her head, trying to hide from the world and drown away in tears her new-found shame, the dirtiest of the dirtiest secrets. But even clapping a firm hand on her mouth wasn't enough to muffle the sound of her wailing—a sound disturbingly close to something breaking.

-x-x-x-

**_November 10th—_**_the present_

She would ask him today.

You can argue she promised herself the same thing the last four sessions she had with him, but today she would _really_ ask him.

It's just…well you can't blame the girl from being afraid of his answer, right? What if he said she died in a Shakespearian way in his arms? What if he told her about all their cute moments together?

What if he began to laugh at her childish display of jealousy?

Because he would know. He just _would_. He had more insight in people than the staff gave him credit for—he proved it to her twice a week now.

"You know Doc, it really pains me to see you like this."

Her head snaps up, like a deer on the highway.

"Like this?"

He's comfortable on the couch, even with the additional shackles he has now. Grinning smugly—no wait she see things, he seems genuinely concerned.

"That mask you force yourself to wear. I really wonder why you put up with that crap…is it because it's easier to be a respectable young woman this way?"

She laughs feebly. Her own ears don't buy the sound.

"What…are you talking about? I wear no masks."

She smiles. A cute smile, almost maternal. Like a good mom lying to her child—of course Daddy and I love each other, no he isn't sleeping around, what are you babbling about?

"If you don't wanna talk about it, Doc, it's your loss. I was just lending an ear, ya know."

She refuses to meet his eyes. He was right—_again_—and she knows she's telling him as much by turning aside from him. But then there's a difference between letting him know, and acknowledging it.

And a difference between him knowing, and him knowing also what a relief it was.

_Someone knows. Someone knows I'm putting an act. Someone knows this isn't the real me. Someone knows…_

…it was just her luck this someone was a bleached, crazy murdering man.

But at least it was _someone_. Not just her _plants_. And of course, she could also see him as an intelligent, powerful and even sometimes funny misunderstood artist, there, it didn't sound twice as bad now, did it?

She would ask him next time.

-x-x-x-

**_November 11th_**_—the night before the next session_

Obsessive compulsive disorder, she knew it's called like that. She could remember a whole course on the subject—it's page 72 in her textbook: " a psychiatric disorder, specifically, an anxiety disorder. OCD is manifested in a variety of forms, but is most commonly characterized by a subject's obsessive drive to perform a particular task or set of tasks, compulsions commonly termed rituals".

In her case, the ritual is pretty simple: bringing the (new) green-framed photography of the Joker everywhere she goes in her apartment. _Everywhere._Office. Kitchen. Bedroom. Somewhere she can see it and check on it every five minutes. She didn't remember when it all began—was it to accustom herself at having his eyes unnervingly fixed on her all the time? Something like that. Some form of mass-market voodoo way of thinking that propelled her to try to hypnotize the damn picture, like it was connected directly to his brain.

Now she was just unable to move in her apartment without it. Insecurity seized her at the throat each time she tried—and she _did_ try. But her resolve crumbled each time, more and more quickly: she just couldn't stand the feeling of guilt at leaving him behind anymore.

He needed her. She should be at Arkham trying to help him instead of fooling around in her apartment. He needed help. _Her_ help.

"I'm sorry, I can't bring you in the restroom with me! It's too…intimate, you understand? Stay there. I won't be long, promise."

As her trembling hand closed the door of the restroom—even devoted psychiatrist needed a good shower and some privacy, right?—the rational part of her brain tells her that framed pictures didn't pitifully cry, that the Joker's static grin wasn't wailing like a defenseless baby, wasn't sobbing like an abandoned dog on the other side of the door, and to go on with her shower because she was imagining things and that there _wasn't_ a voice calling _Doc, I'm afraid all alone, don't leave me! Don't leave, please, don't leave…_

Her heart sank, and she shook her head. She was being foolish. This was a _picture_; so what if she brought it in the shower with her? It was a harmless piece of paper, the same thing as a cookbook. If she could have some peace of mind…she wasn't prudish to the point of being afraid to undress in front of a mere photography, was she?

Besides, she could always turn it so it would face the wall. Yeah, that was a good compromise.

Opening the door, she scooped the green frame in her arms, and gently placed it on the counter.

_I don't get a striptease, Doc?_

"No, you pervert. Should I remind you, you like _whores", _she spat, venom lacing her voice.

-x-x-x-

It was 1h00 am on her alarm clock, and sleep still eluded her.

"Are you sleeping? I don't know how comfy the cells at Arkham are…"

From the bedside, neatly held by Dumbo, the framed grin of the Joker never sleeps. It's watching, waiting for the sun to rise so she could go back to Arkham, and Harley can't resist the desire of tracing his lips with the tips of her fingers.

Such a charming smile. How can people be frightened by it?

Then her fingers perceived something else—it was cold. It wasn't his real face; it was just paper under cold glass. Frantically, she removed the offensive material, but the crisp texture of old paper didn't comfort her more.

A strange giggle escaped her lips. Life is ironic, really; people would have paid billions just to never see his smile, and here she wanted to trade all her future fortune just to touch it.

-x-x-x-

**_November 12th_**_—the next session_

She would ask him today.

Gathering her courage by gulping down her fifth cup of coffee in less than one hour, she put her nicest, friendly smile, turned around and said:

"Can I touch your face?"

…and her eyes bulged, not only because the question was not the one she wanted to ask, but her voice was also distorted; it was way too high pitched, too sweet and bubbly…too…too _clownish_.

By the look on his face, she wasn't the only one surprised; his fine right eyebrow was raised, like a scientist judging an unexpected turn of events. And then his face broke into a smile, as usual.

A pleased smile, she was pretty sure of it. She was beginning to know the differences in his smiles—and that one fitted in the "positive feeling" category.

"I knew someday you wouldn't be able to resist my charm anymore, Doc! Sure, sure, come here, I don't bite…"

It was too late to go back; besides, she wasn't sure she wanted to. As if on automatic, she felt herself getting up and sit on the tiny place he made her on the couch. All she needed now was to raise her hand and there will be no distance left between the Joker and her.

She was feeling…weird. Her heart was thundering crazily in her eardrums, and his face was so close it seemed surreal. His thigh was so hot it burned her skin through her skirt, but not as bad as her cheeks which were certainly on fire to hurt this much.

God help her, she wanted to touch his face so bad she was shaking.

Her hand rose, but stopped in mid-air, and Harley bit her lip to muffle the sound of frustration that threatened to escape her.

_I need—don't do it—I want, I NEED goddamn it—DON'T—it's eating me please let me-run, Harleen—touch his face—escape—need—back off—I…_

"Touch my face, Doc. Touch me."

His voice was liquid velvet rolling on his tongue; so charming, so soft, so manly…and his eyes were spelling magic, they literally glowed from a feverish, hypnotic light, pulling her into their depths.

"Harley, _touch me_."

She was lost. Somewhere between the carnal desire to touch him and the imperious tone of his voice, her hands surged forward, closing the distance and sending an electric shock through her body.

His face was…so smooth. Perfectly shaven. No, more than that, he was…beardless. Some effect of the chemicals, perhaps. So smooth to the touch, exactly like baby skin. Yet, on the cheek…the muscles of the jaw under, they were…tense, strained…_paralyzed_. Forever keeping him smiling. Forever keeping him apart from the world. Forever…

"I won't", she heard herself whisper.

"I know now, sweets. Shh."

There was something very warm and comforting in that voice, and she moved to his hair. Wild locks, a little greasy, done as best as he could, considering Arkham was no spa station. A little weird with the shabby clothing, but for a brief moment she imagined him in his full Joker outfit—purple suit, yellow shirt, blue bow tie—and her mouth opened a little in awe.

_So handsome…so…_

She choked on her air supply. Something was wrong, very wrong, she felt so dizzy, like if the world was spinning around her, and so hot, like she was about to melt in a puddle at his feet. The colors were too bright; the sounds were too far from her ears…and yet…

_His lips.__ Ruby red. Touch them. I want to feel them. Trace his smile with my fingertips…_

She did. Slowly, following the line of the upper lip with her right thumb, the lower lip with the other. They were a little chapped, thanks to their perpetual stretching. And his teeth, they were unnaturally white. And his…

_…wet…_

…tongue was licking her fingertips, very, very slowly.

"Stop that."

Where was her air?

"I don't think ya really want me to."

He was right. _Again._But he had to stop.

"Don't…suck…my…fingertips" she succeeded to utter.

"Make me" came the thick answer.

She was unable to move, like she was trapped in her own body. The realization sent a wave of panic to her core, and her heart began pumping loudly in her head, too fast, way too fast, and why was the room swirling?

"…Doc? Your eyes, they're strange, they're…shit."

Her vision blackened, and her consciousness failed her. The last coherent thing she grasped before fainting was the hysterical scream of the Joker, calling the guards for dear life.

-x-x-x-

**_November 13th_**_—the morning after_

"Harley? You hear me?"

The soft voice of Joan stirred her to painful consciousness; she felt like a subway rolled on her. She opened her eyes, slowly—there was the worried face of Joan and… Darrell? He looked bored. And what was he doing?

"Thanks God, you're awake. How are you feeling?"

"…bad. What…?"

She tried to sit up, but Joan stopped her, putting a caring hand on her forehead.

"You're still a little warm. Take it easy."

She complied, suddenly feeling the need to vomit. Her head was heavy with questions—where were they? Why was there sun? There weren't windows in the offices and cells of Arkham, not that much, not that big. Where was…

Memories crowded her mind, and she panicked.

"I was with the Joker…and then…black…Joan! Joan!"

"Shh, Harley, calm down I'm here."

"What ha—"

"Poison, Harley. It was poison. Jonathan Crane's new toxin that he wanted to try on the staff—though I have no idea how he got his hands on chemicals, or how it ended up in your coffee-pot."

_Crane.__ Scarecrow freak. Toxin in my coffee…I drank five cups in one hour. _

"To Crane's own explanation, the toxin paralyzes you for a short moment—enough time for you to feel utterly helpless and panicked. He said fear from physical inability was particularly interesting, because it affects everyone, and…God what am I babbling about, you don't need to hear this shit."

Harley laughed feebly.

"Who would have thought Joan Leland could be _vulgar…_"

"Stop it! I was _so_ worried, Harley! Seeing you lifeless, in the Joker's arms…God I'll never forget the horror."

"_What?_"

"I need to go see Dr. Arkham now, to tell him you're alright. Darrell will explain everything to you. Stay on this bed. I'll be right back."

As Joan exited the infirmary, Harley focused her attention on Darrell—who was still scribbling something on a notepad.

"Darrell?"

"One sec' Harley."

"What are you _doing_?"

"Taking notes for the clown.7_h05, she woke up, 7h06, she said she felt bad, _etc. etc. He refused to go back to his cell unless I promised to do that…don't take it bad, but it was damn time you woke up. I'm here since 15 hours now."

"Oh my—"

"I said don't take it bad. If you want to feel bad about somebody, think about _poor_ Johnny-boy."

He snickered, and she felt a chill go through her body.

"Do I want to know what happened to Mr. Crane, Darrell?" she asked cautiously.

"You sure don't want the details."

"So?"

"Let's make a small resume, Doc. We hear the Joker screaming like a banshee, we run and find you lifeless in his arms, we have a heart attack; the Joker refuses to let you go, clings to you like some sissy boy to his momma—"

_He must have felt so afraid. Oh, God._

"—we have to drag you both there; Joan arrives, begins screaming bloody murder to the Joker, who is some angry son of a bitch now; he says this is the work of some poison specialist, and not _him_, since he would never try to kill his precious _you_; meanwhile you twitch and you moan on the bed, and whatever you're dreaming about it's a fucking nightmare you have; and after that our friendly clown goes berserk and tear away the armchair there like it was paper, runs like the madman he is to the common room and begins beating the hell out of poor Jonathan, telling him he'll kill him if you died, something about the time he invested and that he was so close to meet his goals, anyway, Johnny-boy got it hard."

"He…did that?"

Tiny butterflies of joy danced in her stomach. What he did was very bad, and she'll have to reprimand him for that, but in the meantime she could savour the intoxicating feeling of a teenage-like crush.

"Sure he did. I was there, I can tell, and the three syringes of sedatives we had to shot him to stop his frenzied slaughter can tell you too. "

"_THREE_?"

"Yeah. Enough to bring down a horse, I know. He was really angry, Doc, really, _really_ angry."

"I guess I should be…flattered?"

"Dunno. If a guy took three shots and is still able to move, just because he is upset about _me_…hell, I think I would be flattered too. In a scary sense, I mean."

Obviously done with his talking, he went back to his notepad, but suddenly stopped, an indefinable glimmer in the pupils.

"By the way, Doc, not my business, but what the hell were you doing on the couch with the Joker? We see nothing on the cam record, just like you two were engaged in a staring contest or something."

_You forgot about the camera. Stupid Harley! Stupid! _

"I…don't know, really. Memories are blurry."

"That's what I told the staff. Toxin makes you act weird sometimes."

-x-x-x-

_The Joker spent four days in the isolation room for his aggression on Jonathan Crane._

_Harley spent the four days waltzing with the Joker's green-framed grin in her apartment._

-x-x-x-

**_November 17th_**_—Next session_

"I'm glad to see you're ok Doc. I was afraid last week's incident would compromise our sessions together."

_Don't thank him. Stay focused. _

"If you want to know it all, Joan seriously objected. We'll need some solid stuff to convince her."

_Don't think about how regal he looks. Think serious crap._

"Joan? The old hag? You must report to _her_? What a joke, Doc, they don't trust you or what?"

The remark hit home. She sometimes asked herself the same question.

"They just want to help me", she dismissed quickly, taking a cup of coffee "Now let's go back to—"

She stopped her drinking motion in mid-air, eyeing the liquid warily.

"Go ahead and drink, Doc, there's no danger anymore. I made it clear for _everybody_ that you were _my_ psychiatrist. Out of reach, you know, all mine, do-not-touch, that stuff. Nobody will lay a finger on you now."

That she felt more at ease with this promise that with a group of scientists checking the entire pipe system wasn't making sense, but…alright, she was probably the only woman in the entire world that now felt _more_ secure _with_ the Joker than _without_.

He smiled reassuringly, and she drank the coffee, nearly spluttering it everywhere when he completed "…well, perhaps except me!"

"You _pervert_!"

"I'm yours to continue our play of blind sight anytime, Doc…"

She blushed. The memory wasn't clear, but she definitely remembered the way his tongue felt on her fingertips…deliciously…

_Taboo, that's the word._

She felt a thrill go through her—then chided herself. Camera. Psychiatry. Stay focused on therapy at least for ten minutes.

"I just know what Joan wants to hear. Give me one answer and we can take the rest of the session chatting a little."

"I like the sound of that. Whaddya wanna know?"

_Breathe, girl. Just say it. _

"The…callgirl you told me about?"

"Wha--? Oh right, I remember now. Loosy chick. What about her?"

She concealed her jubilant sigh. _Loosy__ chick._The girl had no important significance _at all _to his heart. Why did she doubt that?

"Did she die…naturally?"

"You want to know if I _killed_ her? Oh, God. Tell that old hag **_yes_**, that's what she wanna hear."

"You're sure?"

"Trust me. Play you part right, sweets, and we'll definitely have December together too."

-x-x-x-

**A Madhouse Romance-40 sessions remaining**

* * *

_Author__ notes_

« November » was a big challenge. It's longer; it's saucier; it's the last chapter before the Joker seduces Harley for good, and I found it very difficult to write her loosing her sanity without realizing it. In addition, it's my belief that in order for "Harley Quinn" to rise, "Harleen Quinzel" had to fall, thus explaining her "angsty" passages in this chapter.

I hope I didn't disappoint anybody! **Next chapter** is scheduled for next week, but this time the **"M" section** (insert naughty grin here). In the meantime, please leave a comment!


	5. December: Part 1

**Quick answers to those kind enough to review:**

**Sno-Chan**: Clown porn indeed. Perhaps we should re-nickname him "Clown Prince of Porn" instead of "Crime"…(winks). I hope this will be worth the wait; if not, think it's only the beginning! (laughs).

**Operameg**: Welcome in our fan trip! (winks). The calendar structure of the fic came to me instinctively, as I have no ideas how I would have separated the paragraphs otherwise…but I'm afraid I've done some errors…oh well, no big deal. Naughty stuff ahead, enjoy!

**Amy**: As I am relatively new to this JHQ fanfic business, you can be sure I still have the flame to write for months (winks). Thanks for the nice comment, and have a pleasing chapter (laughs).

**Kelly Renee**: Edge of your seat? Check this, sweets. I'm in total denial that I've written it…oww.

**Nicci**: Thanks a lot, and of course I continue! (winks) I don't know how I manage to give my readers the impression that they're _watching_ instead of _reading_, but that's really flattering (hugs). Enjoy!

**Poptartfrog**: It really makes you ponder, doesn't it? How does an unstable person finally cross the line, since we all know it wasn't really a conscious decision…I still have a little trouble characterizing the Joker, but I'm confident I'll have a firm grip on it by the end of the fic. Thanks for the comments, and have a good read!

**Amanda**: Thanks for telling me my Original Characters don't ruin the show, that means I did a good job (smile). M rating is here indeed, and what a M it is! (and to think I intend to go even further…punish me. I'm very, very bad…).

**Thyme**: My dear Thyme, you'll now understand the thing with the photography…the things you do to me (winks). For your questions, it was intended to Crane to play a small role, not because he's some sexy hunk in Batman Begins, but because he's the one using fear toxins. It was intended for Harley to experiment a childhood fear in front of our clown, and I changed it to physical inability fear while writing to avoid a how convenient! trap. But fear not (fear…I'm doing lame puns now), Crane will join our fantrip in the upcoming "Jealous Device", and _that's_ going to be ugly….Ahh, I just love to torture him.

* * *

SEX AHEAD KIDDOS. YE'VE BEEN WARNED.

**A MADHOUSE ROMANCE**

_**December 1st**-First session of the month_

_and_ _a little after the Crane incident_

"He's spying, ya know."

She didn't even have to ask who he was talking about; she could also see the large shadow of Daniel outside, and it infuriated her. No matter she passed the last 27 years of her life proving to the world she was a strong woman; all it took was a mere moment of helplessness and everyone treated her like a baby!

God, she hated them. What were they thinking? That she was a dumb blonde, a stupid teenager? That she loved being under the toxin-spell of a supermaniac and wanted more? Come on, she had more credibility than that.

Tired, she removed her glasses ("_Doc, you don't have to put this serious façade crap in front of me. I know you don't need these—ahhh aren't you the prettiest doll now?_") and eyed the green-haired hunk in front of her. Despite what the entire staff seemed to believe now, she wasn't an imbecile; she knew what they really began to be afraid of was the special bond she had slowly crafted with her patient.

"_His crush on you is getting out of proportion, Harley. I mean, I know you're insensitive to his lame flirting, but suppose he frees himself from his restraints again? That he escapes Arkham? The guards would arrive too late, and I won't take the risk of loosing you for the sake of research over a psychopath's sanity, you understand?"_

She almost snorted at the memory. The always politically correct Joan, never saying that what she really dreaded was to found her in a raped, tortured mess on the asylum's floor, grinning insanely because of non-consensual clown pornography. Her frustration was so intense at this moment, so _overwhelming_, that she almost spat to her face that she'll sooner be his willing whore than to have to put up with Arkham's global hypocrisy any longer.

At what point in this whole ordeal normal people ceased to understand what she was trying to do and left her alone with a lunatic for sole companion in her healing quest? Couldn't they _see_?

Of course not. The only being apparently gifted with the knowledge of "Harley's obvious basics" was strapped and shackled like a dog on the couch.

So there she was, with a suicidal deal if she wanted to have January with him too: prove to the entire asylum that whatever the Joker felt for her was on a purely professional level. Considering, thanks to the good doctor Crane, that nobody would ever believe that, she was ready for an awful month of slow death at day and insomniac crying at night.

"I know the jerk is spying, thank you. Anything _new_ for me?"

"Don't use this tone with me, Doc. You know I just want to help."

His voice was curt, and the gentle scolding felt like a slap on her cheek. Unwanted tears brightened her eyes, as she frantically searched for tissues.

"Oh my God, Doc, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to—"

"N-no, no, you're right, I'm acting like…a spoiled child" she sniffled pitifully. "It's just that I don't see how we'll get out of this one", she added in a sad whisper.

"Get out of what? Jesus fucking Christ, what is it _again_?"

She recoiled a little, eyelids half closed in front of his sudden outburst of impatience, but soon enough his face was again smooth and charming as he smiled encouragingly.

"Tell me Doc. I'm here to help. I won't let _anything_ trouble you."

If the circumstances were any different, she would already be in his arms crying her heart out at her misery. But since she was a criminal psychiatrist and him an insane individual, she just shifted uncomfortably on her chair before pouring out her problems like a fountain. A couple of tears and hiccups later, she wiped her nose in silence while he rubbed his chin, an unhappy pondering expression on his face.

"That old hag. I'm going to kill her someday."

"Lemme help."

Her wish was a metaphor; his assertion wasn't.

"That could be funny, Doc, but first things first. You're going to write a nice report—"

"About what? We didn't talk about anything yet!"

"Oh, well, just…use your imagination, you know? Like…There was a time with the Bat, he cornered me at a chemical industry…and then…erm…ahem…"

"…you…erm…remembered the first time you met him and… how he wronged you through the years, before falling again in a…eh…toxic waste in a bitter and ironic repetition of the past..?", she completed hesitantly.

"See, Doc, you're getting better at this than me!"

"What was that supposed to mean?"

"That I'm proud of you! So, like I was saying, you write this nice crap report and let me take care of the rest."

He smiled like a mischievous kid, and she chuckled lightly.

"You're so cute when you do that…and what exactly will we do with the rest of the session?"

"Chatting, of course! You didn't tell me yet how your first date with…whawazz his name again…Chicken?"

"Chuck! You're so _mean_!" she laughed heartedly.

"'Course I am, Doc, who do you think you're talking to?" he pouted. "And _you_ are too! Leaving me when dear Chuck tried to kiss you on your doorstep…just as things became interesting…I've passed the whole week-end waiting for the conclusion!"

She blushed slightly.

"There was nothing really. He tried to…seduce me with some tongue trick but it was so…_lame_ I just ended up laughing, really."

"_Lame_?"

"Yeah, He…passed his tongue on his lips in slow motion but…" she gestured with her fingers the general motion, blushing even more.

"…he ended licking himself like a goddamn dog?"

"…Yeah" she admitted. "Horrible sight forever burned in my retinas", she added with a smile.

The memory of her catastrophic first kiss had always been a painful one. But strangely, each thought she shared with the Joker—be it boring, painful or frustrating—just came back funny and alright. Another weight offs her shoulders; he just _knew_ how to make her feel better.

-x-x-x-

_**December 5th-**two sessions later_

"Who is Holiday, Doc?"

Not even bothering to look up, Harley continued scribbling ideas on her notepad. Writing fake Joker stories was more difficult than she first thought—but what a challenge! It had to be gruesome, yet funny in some twisted way; something truly morbid and chilling that you couldn't help to appreciate despite its horror. Sad, really, that she couldn't share them with Joan; she would see what a good exercise it was to get to know your patient better.

"How the hell am I supposed to know?"

"Don't you read the newspapers, watch TV sometimes..?"

He seemed mildly annoyed, and Harley took some time to consider the question. Hasn't she read something about a holiday killer recently? She was sure that yes; it was the main topic of conversation in the staff's room. She just couldn't replace it; everything was so boring, so unworthy of attention compared to her sessions with the Joker, that she gave up on newspapers a few weeks ago.

"I think he or she stroke last on Thanksgiving. Brutal murder, they said. But I could check the details tonight if you want", she added as an afterthought.

"It would be sweet of you, Doc, I'd truly appreciate that. I find myself rather at lost now that I don't have Batman to obsess about."

She dropped her papers, blissful surprise blessing her features, and emitted a small squeal of joy.

"You don't? You did all the exercises we talked about? The respiration trick? Visualization? Dream control? It _worked_?"

He nodded tiredly, and she repressed the need to do a little victory dance. It _worked_. Her therapy _worked_. She was curing the Joker from his obsession—he was **_healing_**!

And Joan wanted to destroy it all for stupid reasons!

"Sure it worked, Doc, I try to do the stuff you suggested as often as I can. The only thing, though…"

"Yes?"

She was on the edge of her seat, fervently waiting. He could say whatever he wanted; she was still going to congratulate him.

"…I'm afraid I don't remember much of the outside world. Like, here, and with you nearby, it works, but…"

He looked truly contrite, somewhere between lost and ashamed, and after a quick look at the door, she found herself rushing to his side, pressing his head close to her heart, flattering his hair with maternal affection.

"Poor Pooh, don't worry about that! I'm so proud of you, we've accomplished so much!"

"You really think so?" he whined pitifully.

"_Of course_ I do! Don't be silly!"

She pressed his face harder, really not caring that his nose was bumping in her breasts. The poor, poor thing. He had such a low self-esteem, a bad image of himself…but she was here for him, she'd always be. He had to know that.

"I won't ever, _ever_ let you down, you hear me?"

And then it just…happened. He looked at her, his need for love as huge as an abyss reflecting in his half-closed eyes, and she bent a little and kissed him.

A fleeting little kiss, a little nothing that lingers on your heart like a childhood perfume: a brief contact, lips on lips, something very tender and soft that means nothing, yet means _everything_ in the same time.

There was a warm silence where neither of them said something; just her standing besides him, sending waves of devoted love that he greedily took, both of them panting heavily.

"Again, Doc, please, _please_…"

"I can't", she whispered sadly, putting a finger on his lips to hush him. "The guards could come back. And there's the camera".

The camera, that wasn't recording many details but would surely be trouble if she repeated the gesture too often.

She smiled gently.

"Care to hear my new story about you?"

And that's how the session ended. Her telling him one of his fake memories, him listening like a child ready to be lulled to sleep. He blew her a kiss before leaving; she caught it and pressed it on her lips.

-x-x-x-

**_December 8th_**—_the session after_

"Doc?"

"Yes?"

"I have a…hem…_confession_ to make."

"Sure, go ahead. You know I'm always listening."

"You don't understand Doc. It's…hem…well you promise me not to be angry?"

The frightened plea triggered some unknown emotion into Harley's heart, as she melted her voice to a soft caress.

"I won't, promise. What is it?"

He mumbled something quickly, so fast and so low she didn't hear a mere syllable.

"Can you repeat? I didn't hear!"

"Forget it Doc. Bad idea. You'll kick me and say I'm a dirty, ugly thing and call for the guards and I'll never see ya aga—"

"Stop it! You know that's bullshit" she admonished sternly. "Now tell me, what in the world you think is so horrible to get such ridiculous ideas?"

He shook his head vividly, and her curiosity flared. That was the first time, in all their sessions together, that he refused to talk about something he put on the table.

"Is it involving me?" she coaxed gently, trying to guess the truth.

"Yeah" he quacked.

"Is it…involving me and _you_?" she pushed, unsure.

"Yeah" he quacked again, obviously burning in shame.

"Is it…something with an intimate connotation?" she suggested cautiously.

"Hell yeah" he groaned, looking everywhere in the room except at her.

"Our…kiss?"

"Oh no, Doc. _Worse_."

"You had a …wet dream?" she suggested as lightly as she could, considering she was sweaty from all the tension between them.

"_Worse_, Doc. I've worked on it" he said in an almost inaudible voice, then closed his eyes, obviously waiting for her bashing and rejection.

_Oh, God. The Joker **masturbated** thinking about **me**. _

_Quick, Harley. He feels guilty, like it was a bad thing. You need to reassure him. "Sexual desires are healthy", page 167, last paragraph. Go._

"I think it's…great" she managed to say after a small pause. "You know, it isn't a bad thing at all. You obsess less, other desires you neglected come back to light…" she explained with a professional tone. "It's very healthy; it shows that you're healing" she concluded, somehow very proud of her own, perfect explanation.

"You think so?" he asked, unsure.

"I'm telling you, and doctors always tell the truth" she added with a wink.

That seemed to convince him, and he relaxed on the couch, before smiling from ear to ear, a devilish glimmer in the eyes.

"So I can boast about my phantasms, Doc?"

"_What?_"

"Yeah, like this one when ya came in my padded cell, with this mini skirt of yours—you know, the black one, I like it so much—and ya went on all fours and begged me to—"

"_HEY! You pervert!_"

It was supposed to be an angry shout, because she knew she should be angry; but all that came out was hysteric laughter and a guilty tingle of excitation growing in her belly.

"Back on topic, horny man. Do you have a plan?"

"Not yet Doc, but it's coming. Just relax—I'll take care of everything."

-x-x-x-

**_December 12th_**—_Harley's apartment_

"_Just relax, Doc. I'll take care of everything."_

Sprawled on her bed, half-covered by a blanket and a skimpy pyjama, Harley was watching television—or at least her eyes were. Her mind, as usual, kept coming back to the Joker.

"_Come on Doc, repeat after me."_

_She rolled her eyes, but obliged nonetheless._

"_You're going to take care of everything. My only mission is to have fun tonight."_

"_That's right, pumpkin. Just fun. I can't stand seeing you unhappy…"_

It was so easy, so simple to let him care of every little problem her mind suffered from. He always knew what to say, how to act, what to do…she had no doubt he'd come out with a plan by the end of the month, as precise and brilliant as a grand scale crime scheme.

"You won't disappoint me, will you?" she cooed to the (bigger) green-framed grin of the Joker, gently put near her heart, like a plush. "We _need_ these sessions together, just _you_ and _me…_"

As usual, the picture answered. She could even imagine his hand caressing her cheek as he talked in this low, seductive voice he adopted recently.

_I'd hate to disappoint you, Doc…you know I feel exactly the same…_

Damn right she knew. She knew him inside out. She was a Joker's expert. Even the Bat couldn't flatter himself with the knowledge she now had on the clown—and anyway she was the only one able to fully understand him; he said it himself.

Giggling, she kissed his nose in a resounding _smack_. She loved his nose. They said that men with long noses were specially…_gifted_ in other areas, even if the only thought sent her blushing from head to toes.

_Aaaah, Doc, why don't you ever kiss me here?_

His imaginary hand tapped his lips lightly, in a mute supplication, and she vehemently protested.

"But I _did!_ You think I kissed what last time? The _couch?_"

_You know what I mean, Doc…a **real** kiss. _

"You wouldn't be able to handle it, Mister J" she cockily grinned. "I'm a very…_naughty_…girl when I want" she whispered saucily, her nose on his nose, their lips only inches apart.

_That's because you never tried me, baby. I'm the man!_

The answer sent her in a fit of hysterics, and hastily she got up, eyeing his teasing face now flat on the mattress. Look at him, look elsewhere, at him, elsewhere, him…In a final little dance she shut her curtain up and slowly crawled back to him in an almost feline manner. Her face was flushed, and her heart was beating madly in her ears.

"I can't believe…I'm about…to do that!" she panted heavily, her mind fleetingly grasping how absurd, how _wrong_ the situation really was.

The thought left quickly, and her tongue licked the glass, timidly at first, then more and more savagely. _Lick his face. Hear his moans. Imagine what he tastes like. Lick more. Don't stop._ Had he imagined something like this when he fantasized about her? Her on all fours licking his face, sucking each other's tongue? Licking his cock, perhaps? No, he had mentioned _begging_. Begging to suck his cock clean?

Her strokes became erratic, and in a frantic movement she freed her aching breasts and rubbed them on the harsh blanket, her whole body trembling from an unknown need. In a desperate attempt to relieve herself, she kissed forcefully the frame deeper into the bed, and abruptly pulled out.

"What am I **_doing!_**"

The realization was soon overridden by another vision—her Mister J on her bed. What would he look like in his full Joker outfit, his collar slightly open on his (probably) hairless chest? Would he hold his belt in a mockery of a whip, motioning for her to come to him?

Would he lick her nipples, nibbling on their perking buds, or greedily suck as much as he could? Would he put her hand on his trousers and force her to feel his throbbing manhood, looking at her with feverish lust, saying he'd fuck her senseless until she begged for mercy?

Would he take her against her wishes?

The last image put her on her knees, gasping for air. Unable to form any coherent thought, she slipped a trembling hand in her panties and fingered herself to oblivion.

In vain. The orgasm didn't come; the need was elsewhere.

-x-x-x-

**_December 15th_**—_the next session_

_Jesus, Harley, this is your patient. Focus. FOCUS!_

Easier said than done. Her whole body was edgy since 36 hours; she was white as a sheet. Everything people said to her fled kilometres above her head, as she tried desperately to concentrate on the upcoming session, to no avail, obviously.

She tried everything. She even thought about seducing Daniel for the night—and decided against it; this wasn't just about sex. It was…deeper than that. By kissing the Joker's picture, she opened the gates to something…_new_; there wasn't any other word to describe her current state.

Something new and very, very ugly, that twisted the Joker's voice to pure octaves of raw sensuality and placated her mind with kinky visions in sheer daylight.

In short, she was a sexually frustrated mess.

"—Harley, you aren't listening to me!"

In horror, she realized she must have been staring dumbly at him for a full five minutes.

"I'm…sorry, what did you say again?"

"This is really annoying Doc, how are we supposed to succeed if you act like an idiot? This is the third time I must repeat!"

Third time. Oh my God.

"I'm so sorry Mister J, I feel _really_ unwell and—"

"Wha--?"

"I said I feel unwell!"

"Before that sweets, _what did you say_?"

Indeed, what did she say?

"I…don't remember. I'm sorry, so sorry…"

Her breath got caught in her throat. He was _smiling_—but unlike anything she ever saw from him. It felt like…huge satisfaction, demented pleasure, **victory**—

…_and oh God he was licking his lips with agonizing slowness._

"I bet that was good old Chuck wanted to do, right Doc?"

_I'm going to explode._

"..Right, right. Excuse me, I-I really need to go t-to the bathroom."

She didn't even wait for his answer, and rushed to the small cubicle just outside her office, panting like she had just run the marathon.

_Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my fucking God I'll never be able to survive the session if he continues to tease me like that. Oh God. Oh God._

She splashed cold water to her face, not enough to erase her make-up, though. Just a little something to calm her burning nerves and hopefully tame her raging hormones.

_Breathe, girl._

She came back and sat back in her chair. Her pupils were still dilated, her lips were still puffy from all the biting she had done, her face still flushed, but overall, she could handle it.

"My sincerest apologies, Mister Joker. I'm fine now."

"Don't bother Doc, I know how it is…" he said rather smugly. "Why don't you move this furniture to block the door's window, now?"

"_What_?"

"You heard me Doc. Just move it so we won't be interrupted. Quickly now, time is running short."

"_What are you talking about!"_

She didn't believe her ears. Moving the furniture? Interruption? By who? Why?

"Tsk, don't play dumb, sweets. Move the damn thing now, so you can take care of my hard-on."

She spilled her coffee everywhere on her desk. This wasn't happening. She heard _wrong_. He was crazy—he had to be to suggest that.

"Are you _blind_?" she whispered half-angrily, half-astonished. "There is a _CAMERA_!"

"_You're_ blind Doc. I took care of the goddamn camera."

Her head swiftly turned; indeed, the camera was broken. Like if someone…threw a rock at it.

"How did you…"

"Later, Doc. Move your ass."

She _had_ to be dreaming. The _Joker_ wasn't commanding _her_ to have _sex_ with _him_ in her _office_.

"Are you—"

"**_Enough_**, Harley. You know you want me. I can smell your arousal from here, so **_move it_**."

Despite the evidence that something was clearly wrong in this whole affair, she got up and pushed the furniture in front of the door. No Daniel this time; no one could see; no one could enter.

No one could _save_ her.

"Good, good. Now come over here."

Trembling, she walked to him, as he recited instructions, his eyes never leaving hers.

"You put the furniture because the door was broken and wouldn't stop opening. Don't worry about that; I'll take care of it when I'll go out. After you'll go see the technician and say your camera is broken, understood?"

She nodded like a puppet, her eyes round like coins.

"Now Doc, open your legs and sit on my lap."

Perhaps a tiny, tiny part of her brain shouted "_RUN!_" at this instant, but Harley wasn't in a state to hear anything; the only thing reaching her ears was the Joker's voice, and if he asked her to sit on his lap, sit on his lap she'd do.

Her skirt rolled up in the movement, but she didn't care; and when her thighs finally closed on his hips, she moaned beautifully.

_He has a hard-on. And it's rubbing on my wet panties. Oh, God, this feels so fucking good!_

"Look at me now, Doc. _Look at me_."

She did. His eyes screamed _evil_, and yet she couldn't break free. This was a new version of her Mister J, more powerful, more savage…

_Darker._

"That's it Harley. Now kiss me."

She would have kissed him anyway, order or not.

At first it was strange—she was kissing _teeth_. Then his face relaxed, melted somehow; ruby red lips joined her pink ones as her hips bucked forward for a first time, and his tongue invaded her mouth a moment later, just as a deep rumble of—laughter?—echoed in his chest.

Under her hands, the vibration sent chills trough her spine, as she practically tore away the shabby fabric of his shirt in an effort to feel his torso. She began sucking his tongue, the acidic taste making her clench her thighs tighter, while his shackled hands came on the pocket of her blouse, took the pen lying there and in a Houdini twist freed his wrists.

He was free—not from the couch, but free to roam his hands on her body as he pleased.

These long, artistic hands slipped under her shirt, her bra, uncovering her breasts to his waiting eyes, massaging them roughly before he broke the kiss.

"Put them in my mouth, Harl. Offer them to me."

_Yes…YES…_

The second his tongue licked the perky bud of her left breast, she moaned in delight, so loud he had to clap her mouth with one of his hands as she pressed his face closer, undulating without any shame on his rod. He grunted something indistinctly, something _primal_, and her skirt rolled up to her waist, exposing her butt to whoever would enter.

Both his hands came on her ass, feeling their firm roundness, touching hard, so _hard_, there would be bruises, she was certain. His middle finger pushed the offensive panties aside, and she jerked forward, wild as a beast.

"Easy, Harl. Easy", he whispered between his licks, feeling her wetness on his fingers. "Fuck, I'm gonna enjoy this more than I thought…"

And then it came. The _bang_ on the door.

"HELLO? EVERYTHING ALRIGHT IN THERE?"

"Shit."

She wasn't that calm. In horror, she jumped off, quickly rearranged his and her appearance and spoke:

"_Yes Danny, everything is A-Okay! The door is just broken!"_

"Alright. Just…open it, would you?"

She slipped a mortified look to the Joker, who in return was muttering obscene curses.

"You can't leave me like this!"

"I'm afraid I'll have to, Doc. Have fun thinking about me tonight."

-x-x-x-

**A Madhouse Romance-35 sessions remaining**

* * *

Author notes

Oh my God. This isn't happening. I didn't write all this smut stuff! (in total denial).

Anyway. Since this was getting long (cough) I decided to cut the chapter in two, so we'll have December part two next week. A little less sex in the upcoming chapter, but our sexy clown has to escape somewhere in the story…

This said, feel free to befriend me on LJ (I'm themadpuppy) and check for our upcoming JHQ Christmas-themed drabble contest. Icons and fics to win…join the fun! ;).


	6. December: Part 2

_Thanks to everyone who reviewed end keep believing! Given the new rules of I'll now reply with the wonderful review system! XD If you aren't registered on and still want me to answer (such as Prissy, I couldn't contact you! cries), please just leave your e-mail address. :) _

* * *

**A MADHOUSE ROMANCE**

_  
**December 15th, 21h00—**Harley's apartment_

There _were_ bruises.

The mirror couldn't lie—the pain in her butt neither. Purple, bluish marks were appearing on her creamy white rear, each one echoing the passage of the Joker's fingertips. And the guy sure had power in his hands; even by pressing her whole palm flat, she couldn't recreate the intensity of his touch.

Perhaps she should stop wearing panties—the stupid garment was in the way and offered an unwanted protection against the lovely reminders of his unbridled lust for her. She half-wished he would have left something else, something more…_visible_; what was more romantic than wearing the seal of your sweetheart for everyone to see?

Alas, that was the flaw; she couldn't share her new-found joy with anybody. Without a doubt, they would say some crappy shit about how Mister J was no good for her, and she wasn't in the mood to wage a war against blind-and-happy-to-be-so people. Too bad for them if they weren't able to recognize the fact that the Joker was the man of her life; she had, and she wasn't about to ruin her chance because of petty details! Sure, he had some issues to deal with, but he was healing pretty fast; if Joan could only understand _that_, they could live happily together by the end of next year.

She giggled like a schoolgirl at the idea and began dancing in bizarre, acrobatic figure in her bathtroom, before stopping abruptly. Somehow she couldn't picture the Joker living in a nice little cottage, or having a good steady job; both fantasies were not fitting his glamorous, extravagant nature at all. Not to say, she had this feeling Mister J wasn't the type to stay idly at home, and even less let his wife support him. Her man was a tad macho; his pride will dictate him to be the pillar of the family, she was sure. Not that she had a problem with quitting her job at Arkham (where would be the fun without him?), it's just that she seriously didn't know how they would make it work in these circumstances…

Oh well. She would just have to ask him; he surely thought about that by now and says she was stupid to worry about insignificant details he already took care of.

**_December 22th_**—_Arkham Asylum_

Even as a little boy, people kept repeating to Daniel that he "wasn't very smart". That's why he became a guard in the first place: the job required brawns, not brains, and it suited him perfectly.

Still, he wasn't completely _stupid_; and as any human gifted with intelligence, but not enough to be part of the smart club, Daniel was cursed to see the Obvious: you know, those facts so big and clear under your nose than no brilliant mind notice, or even less believe them?

That's how he could tell, with acute certitude, that the clown was up to something. Of course you could argue that the Joker was **always** scheming some malevolent action, but Daniel detected something…deeper. It was in the way sweet doctor Harley's eyes lingered on the maniac when he left, too long, too heavy; the way they shone and sparked with something he could define if only he knew the word—this very look which threatened him in classic male prehistoric sense of property. The crappy clown was making the good mamzelle _feel_ something pure and divine for him, and he didn't like that one bit.

Of course, no one would believe him, because this was Obvious and evidence is always hidden by rational details, such as the fact that _she_ was the Doc and _he_ was a hopeless madman. From this state of facts, he could accordingly:

A) Either ignore it.

B) Either try to prevent it.

And as Daniel was a good fellow, but not very smart, he glued his ear to Harley's office's door, and listened.

x-x-x

"My pen?"

Dumbfounded, Harley stopped munching on her Mont Blanc and looked at it warily. She didn't hear wrong, and this was indeed what the Joker referred to; her stylish, red-marbled fountain pen, gracious gift of Gotham University Psychology's Department for the valedictorian. Not the passkey on Darrell's waist, not a cliché crowbar, not even a coerced, bribed or –ahem- _distracted_ guard, all her man asked from her was this gold-incrusted _With Distinctive Mention_ piece of metal. No big law infringement, not much implication of her part, just forgetting the tiny, nib-sharp goddamn pen on the table near the massive security doors Friday, and, if that wasn't too much asking, changing the ink cartridge to something a little more, hmm, _acidic_; Javel water would do, for example.

The move was in fact ridiculously simple, and Harley couldn't decide if she was more relieved or deceived that it didn't subjected her more to risk. Of course she couldn't complain about his gentleman's concern for her safety, but a small, insecure part of her brain kept whispering he did it for a whole different reason—he didn't trust her. Not to keep her mouth shut, not to carry a more important, complicated task through, not even to hear the entire plan once before he tried it. She had not doubt it was flawless, but the thought was disheartening—and how the hell was she supposed to help him if something went wrong?

No wait, she was a smart gal. She connected enough with his master vibe by now to figure much of the course of action already: what she feared was the moment he'd be alone out there. Escaping the asylum's walls before they completed the therapy would jeopardize their recent progresses, perhaps to a point they'd have to start again from scratches. That was the point alright, making her indispensable to his psyche's stability, proving it with some horrendous pull-out… So all was left was a cruel question: what counted more to her eyes, Joker's sanity or Joker's time with her?

But perhaps she didn't even have this latitude. If she didn't leave that pen there, she was blatantly telling him she didn't believe in his capacity to succeed with such little tools and weapons, insulting him in the most offending way possible. _She_ would be the one lacking trust, an undeserving, unworthy, ungrateful bitch—a much more severe blow to his self-esteem.

Heart gamble. Double or quits, the man was watching.

"I'll miss you", she said plainly.

**_December 24th_**—_Arkham Asylum_

She had to be quick.

The pen, heavy in her left pocket, beat with a pulse of its own, in time with the ticking of every wall clock. Inside was a Javel cartridge and a few computer-typed addresses, mainly hers, Daniel's and her mom's.

It seemed right—a guard if he wanted to quickly come back and still not suffer the humiliation of police (or stupid vigilantes), some place no one would suspect if he needed a hide-out and couldn't join her (she'd have to call to explain roughly the details later, though), and of course, her apartment. Not that she had her hopes high for some sweet time, but you couldn't condemn her for wishing, right?

Besides, anything else was superfluous. Giving him money was as inconsiderate as asking Batman why he didn't shove a neon sign in his ass when he fought—grandly depreciating the skill of the artist.

Here they were. The giant, imposing Ladies of Steel, placated with the electronic and hydraulic mechanism that shut the outside world from the madness and kept the insane inside. As discreetly as possible, Harleen bent front and let the pen drop down, before absent-mindedly picking another to put back in her white jacket. Everything was foggy as she focused her resentful gaze on the doors, heavy symbols of what forced them to go through this ordeal—what threatened to keep them apart.

-x-x-x-

_No Christmas party at Arkham. _

_Harleen_ _wished Joan to pass happy Holidays._

_She reassured Daniel the Joker didn't ask for her pen as a gift._

_505 minutes later, the alarms resounded through the Asylum—the Joker was free in Gotham City._

* * *

**A Madhouse Romance-33 sessions remaining**

**End notes**

This chapter is named "6" but in fact should read "5 bis"; it's only the missing part of December, and that explains its shortness. Still, I think it stands up very well on its own!

That said, January will see us back in the Asylum: what happens between December 25th and January 1st is the exclusive property of Thyme, and we all wish her university leaves her alone enough for her to write it soon ;)

Hugs to all, and if you miss your JHQ dose, come see us on Livejournal:)

**That said… **

What a pain, my friends. Mental pain, and physical one! My butt is hurting for having me fixing my screen for seven full hours in a row.

You'll say it's impossible-after all I already had 40 of the damn thing done already!—but AMR is special. It asks me to plan months ahead, build a suspense, have a style, work with many ideas in the same time—it empties me out. And as I'm obsessive with my writing, polishing a page like a diamond, I want every paragraph to be packed to its fullest…an ant labour!

In this sense I had an attack re-reading my first two chapters, I couldn't believe how crappy they were. Perhaps my own standard is too high—you wouldn't believe the number of scenes that were planned for this chapter that got cut for "inability to deliver": that's why we have a lot of introspection and practically no dialogue, and a missing Joker. I had this long, huge verbal sparring between Harleen and him planned, where his wit and genius trap the poor girl in a lose/lose situation. It will be for another fic—the damn exchange just refused to cooperate.

For now, I want to thank deeply, from the bottom of my heart, all those who believed me when I said this fic wasn't abandoned, didn't put pressure, inspired me, reassured me on my talent and encouraged me to continue no matter what—you're the reason people can read this sixth part hugs to all.

And at last, I'll be able to write one or two drabbles…remorse free and conscience clear! -laughs-.


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